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Evil Is Never Orthodox: Chronicles of the Unusual Sith
}} 'Evil is Never Orthodox: Chronicles of the Unusual Sith' is a book of short stories, written by Enoch Wheredad, documenting several of the more unorthodox and less well-known Sith that have existed. Contents :''Chapter One: Of mountains and molehills: Darth Sorrow's tale :Chapter Two: Of psychosis and psychics: Darth Psycho's tale :Chapter Three: Of leather and brims: Darth Hat's tale :Chapter Four: Of pursuits and investigations: Darth Detective's tale :Chapter Five: Of emos and Elma: Darth Elmo's tale :Chapter Six: Of Sith Lords and fools: Darth Darth Binks's tale :Chapter Seven: Of poetry and hidden codes: Darth Onomatopoeia's tale :Chapter Eight: Of barking and tales: Darth Dog's tail :Chapter Nine: Of fanfics and fans: Darth Fanon's tale :Chapter Ten: Of third mortages and executive managers: Darth Accountant's tale Excerpts Chapter One: Of mountains and molehills: Darth Sorrow's tale "Yo mama!" the little ape shouted from below, "Your ass is fat and lumpy, you must be a rock!" Darth Sorrow looked down from his great height at the wimp beneath him. No matter what he shouted up at him, he tried to stomp his enemy but he couldn't, being a mountain. And therefore Darth Sorrow was too overcome by this revelation. Then he realized there was a very hot, super-sexy Ewok beneath him, and he tried to lift his penis in an unfathomable erection, namely to impress her and win her pride. But then, to his dismay, he discovered that there was not only no penis to erect, he didn't even have one, due to it being made of stone. Therefore the tears splashed down and soaked up Psycho, who hollered obscene words as his fur got all wet and sticky. Heh heh heh, bet even Darth Ruptus is laughing now. Chapter Two: Of psychosis and psychics, Darth Psycho's tale Brenda Organa Solo drove through the heavy downpour, trying her best to head for the non-existent planet of Earth she had heard existed. She sped through the stars and saw a star up ahead. "That's no moon... that's a space hotel," she said, musing on the irony of this phrase. She remembered how her ancestor Leia had been driven out of the Star by a furry blanket. Sith. She was now on the hotel's doormat. The manager of the hotel was an eerie, tall, thin, gangly man, with dark hair and a nervous, yet eerily calm, complexion. She disliked him from the start. Plus, the loser said that one's only friend need be Yo Mama, and imagine that! Brenda didn't like him one bit. He said his name was Bates. She said "Bates me," and rushed off to have a shower. She had had enough turmoil for one day. In the shower, she was naked and washing her hair when the door opened. The last thing she saw was a silhouette with a knife brandishing a knife. She hollered. Chapter Three: Of Leather and Brims, Darth Hat's Tale In the reactor of the Death Star, thirteen businessmen were all drinking beer and sitting round talking about organ donors, they needed a new organ for their church and were thinking of nicking one. Which bought them back to the Meaning of Life. "Point one," said one businessman, a sturdy man in his twenties, "people aren't wearing enough hats. Point two: In the Universe, there are many idiotic life forms we cannot PWN3d. Many come in numerous shapes and sizes. We do not yet know the vast quantities of Jedi out there, for the simple reason we were PWN3D by a bunch of teddy bears on Endor, but this is Death Star Number III, and therefore we'll PWN this time!" Chapter Four Darth Detective awoke in a pool of his own blood, which was never a good sign. To his right, a shiny filing lay upturned, while to his left a small pigeon banged its tiny head repeatedly against the office window. The constant tipping of the bird's beak of the glass was slowly driving Detective mad. He decided to try and stand up, where he could properly assess the damage. As well as the damaged filing cabinet, several desks were not in their usual position, and scraps of paper lay scattered all over the small room. A giant blood stain (which Detective dearly hoped was not his own), covered the wall to the Sith Private Detective's left, while a picture on said wall was oddly lopsided. Detective spent several minutes more examining his shabby office, before collapsing into his trusty armchair, which collapsed itself the minute he made contact with it. He remained sitting on the pile of leather and wood, with the pigeon staring at him strangely, as if a man sitting on a broken armchair was in any way unusual. Suddenly, Detective remembered the events of the previous night. Although they were vague and blurry, he had a good shot at piecing them all together. He remembered dueling a masked man, jumping out a third story window and then seeing a masked man enter his office. No, the man entered before they dueled, then Detective jumped out the window. Why he did such an act still eluded him. There was something else...something about a cat. Oh shit, the cat! The masked man had taken the cat. Detective could not lose the cat, not now, not after all he had invested in getting the little furball. Chapter Five Category:Books